


a cup will come together

by kindaopps



Series: to be at the beginning again [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 00:59:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12158343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindaopps/pseuds/kindaopps
Summary: "He forgot about me," Yuuri stutters, mouth fumbling with strange words. Yuri looks at him with wide eyes, and Yuuri repeats himself, even though the second time doesn't make Yuuri understand the words more. "He forgot me."





	a cup will come together

_April 2014_

"Are you the doctor?"

Yuuri's eyes widen, as the bright blue eyes, clear despite the bandages wound around his head, scrutinize him. "N-No, I'm not."

"Then you must be a friend," Viktor replies easily, smiling at him, and Yuuri can't breathe. He only realises he's backed away when Viktor frowns a little, and he stutters for an excuse.

"I'm just going to - toilet."

Yuri finds him a little later, kicking at the stall of his door, as Yuuri tries to breathe, his mind falling apart, and his eyes wet. Yuri looks at him, opens his mouth, and then closes it before saying, "the doctors are checking him now. Let's go."

"He forgot about me," Yuuri stutters, mouth fumbling with strange words. Yuri looks at him with wide eyes, and Yuuri repeats himself, even though the second time doesn't make Yuuri understand the words more. "He forgot me."

 - 

Drop a teacup on the floor and it shatters, helpless in putting itself back together.

The doctors tell Yuuri that Viktor lost two years of his memories. Viktor has met Yuuri nearly two years ago, but now Yuuri never existed in Viktor's life, vanished into nothingness. Yuuri'd once thought that even if Viktor left him, what they had could still be somewhat immortal, preserved like beetles in amber in some corner of Viktor's mind, rose-coloured and bright, cleverly concealed pieces of treasure in the tenets of time. Only now memory is no longer present, the treasure lost, stolen by a cruel twist of fate. Yuuri has fallen through the cracks of Viktor's memories, and he lies at the bottom of it all, all shattered touches, kisses, and fragments of mortal and fleeting love. Inconsequential, broken, worthless.

(Something about Yuuri's initial shock and disbelief, when Viktor found him _interesting and inspiring_ rings ironically and bitterly true now. Why would someone like Viktor think he is special?)

-

"We're staying together?"

Yuuri stiffens at the disbelief that laces Viktor's tone, and he sees him run his eyes over Yuuri's form: plain, unassuming, unattractive, dismissible.

"Yes," he answers, evenly. "We were living together, and all your things are still there."

"I see."

-

He welcomes Viktor back to their home, their things carefully segregated, boundaries drawn clear, no longer Yuuri-and-Viktor, but Yuuri and Viktor, friends, roommates, severed, distinct, different. Viktor peers into cupboards, into the spare bedroom, now Viktor's, giggles when Makkachin bounds and bowls him over, slobbering over his face, settles into his chair, and hums.

"Feels familiar," Viktor tells him, politely, distantly, "have we stayed together for a long time?"

Yuuri sets down his teacup (a new one, unfamiliar) against the table with a muted thud. He blinks back the tears that springs to his eyes. "Not long," he says finally, his voice tight. _Not long enough_ , he thinks, and he exhales hard and turns back to face Viktor, the same person with a different memory, with an alternate internal map that no longer leads back to Yuuri. "Not long at all." 

Inside Yuuri(-and-Viktor's) bedroom, behind a closed door, is a haphazard room, filled to the brim with one-sided recollections, one-sided love, bursting at the seams and tinged with sorrow. A set of cruel memories, like fragments of a broken teacup. Yuuri will cut himself trying to handle the pieces of their memories that Viktor has left in his wake, bleeding tears and grief over happy memories.

_June 2014_

"Why are you in my room?"

Viktor turns, eyes wide, and Yuuri crosses the room in quick steps, standing in front of his desk and crossing his arms, feeling something like nauseous anxiety rising up his throat.

"I was looking for Makkachin," Viktor says, a little sheepishly, "I thought she might be in your room."

"How can you just enter my room like that?" Yuuri snaps, his anxiety making him lash out in anger, "I told you it's out of bounds-"

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't come into my room again," Yuuri warns, as he shoves Viktor out of his(-and-Viktor's room), slamming the door shut and sliding onto the floor. Holds his knees to his chest. He looks at the room, the blue walls both of them spent a day painting, his scores spread haphazardly on the table, with Viktor's markings and instructions on them, the queen bed, and gasps for air. The walls come crumbling down around him, in a space that is everything but nothing at once.

-

They carefully avoid the topic the next time they meet each other, careful and polite, and Yuuri accepts the clumsy apology Viktor gives him over dinner. They eat, in tenuous silence, and Makkachin comes to lie on Yuuri's lap, whining a little. Yuuri smiles a little at her, running his hands through her fur, and feels a little apologetic. He thinks Makkachin might be confused as to why her masters were sleeping separately now. He finds Makkachin on his bed more nowadays, curled up on Viktor's side of the bed and looking at him with confused eyes. He thinks she might know that he is lonely.

"I saw scores on your table."

"Yes."

"Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 is my favourite, you know," Viktor beams at him.

_I know_. Yuuri thinks, and he smiles weakly back at Viktor. "Ah."

"You must play for me!"

"Ah...maybe someday."  

-

"Why don't you just tell him you were dating?" Yuri asks darkly, kicking Yuuri's chair, as Yuuri plays (Schubert's Sonata in A Minor, First Movement. It sounds like a windy, dark day before the storm, and Yuuri watches his fingers flow over the keys absently.). "It's killing me to see you mope around!"

"No," Yuuri says, distractedly. _Fortissimo_ , he thinks, _piano_. Softer, here.

" _Why not_?" Yuri snarls, frustrated disbelief dripping from his tone, "I don't understand, if you're so sad he doesn't know who you are then just -"

The piano slows to a halt, and the sudden silence is oppressive. Yuuri stares down at the black and white keys, and his hands, and tries to find the words. "I don't want to -" he shakes his head. "Viktor and I - we were together because it was a coincidence."

"Huh?" 

"I'm not _special_ , for anything," Yuuri swallows hard. "I don't want to force Viktor back into a relationship back with me because we were together, before."

"You telling him isn't forcing him into a relationship with you-"

"But I'm scared," Yuuri says tightly, "I'm scared, Yurio. That if I tell him, he'll not believe me. Or... if he believes me, and tells me he doesn't want me anymore. What do I _do_ if that happens?" Yuuri sits there, his back hunched, his shoulders like weary houses on the edge of collapse. It frightens Yuri, just a little, but he wants to push, anyway. 

"So you rather pine away. Like this."

"I want to protect what we had like this," Yuuri says quietly, and he looks up, imploring, wide, desperate for validation, "am I wrong? For wanting Viktor to find his way back to me instead of mapping the route for him? Is it wrong?"

"I don't think you're wrong, I just think you're stupid. How would he know how to do that when he doesn't even know you're there?"

-

"Hey, Viktor."

"Yes, Yuuri?" Viktor says pleasantly, pulling back from where he is marking his score, his feet curled under him. Yuuri bites his lip, and thinks about what Yuri says: _he needs to know you are there_. 

"Do you want to - do you want to play a piece together?"

"Which piece?"

Yuuri wordlessly passes him the score, and Viktor scans the title. "Ah, this is a beautiful piece."

"So do you..." 

"Let's play some other time!" Viktor smiles at him widely, and then his smile turns a little shy, private. Yuuri feels dread curl in his stomach. "I have a date today." 

"Oh." Yuuri looks down at the score, Saint Saëns' _Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso_ , as Viktor presses it back to his hands, and tries to smile at Viktor. "Have fun, then."

"I will," Viktor hums, the same smile playing on his mouth, and Yuuri grasps tightly onto his pieces to keep himself from shattering. _This smile is not for you_. "You alright, Yuuri?"

"I'm fine," Yuuri says, trying not to choke on the words. "Just fine."

_August 2014_

"Yuuri!" 

Yuuri ignores him, continuing his mad playing, his fingers working up and down the black keys, the sounds on the edge of frantic and wild, an unruly mind playing a structured score.

"Yuuri, stop."

Yuuri continues to ignore Phichit, until Phichit reaches over and grabs his hands. Yuuri finally looks up, eyes wide. Phichit swallows at how lost Yuuri looks, how miserable he is, and feels a stab of resentment to Viktor. He brushes it aside quickly, and clasps Yuuri's hands tighter.

"Let's rest, Yuuri."

"He went over to her place again," Yuuri mumbles, but he doesn't try to pull his hands away, staring at where his fingers are held in Phichit's own. "To Yulia's house."

"Your wrists must hurt. Overworking is dangerous, Yuuri, you know that."

Yuuri shakes his head and puts his hands back onto the piano, even as they shake with the effort. He starts the piece, forcing his fingers to move.

"He is not here to listen to your Tchaikovsky," Phichit says quietly, "even if you are ruining your wrists by playing it so hard." The sound ceases. The silence is painful. The strands of desperate music seem to linger, mocking. Yuuri clutches his hands into fists so hard he feels ache shiver through.

There is a long silence, only broken by Yuuri's harsh breathing.

"Come on, Yuuri. I'll make you food."

- 

There was the taste of Viktor's mouth, sweet and bewildering, and Viktor had laughed at the look on his face and kissed him again. His hand, warm and holding onto the back of Yuuri's head. _Yuuri_ , he had said, smiling the smile Yuuri loves, _don't play Tchaikovsky with anyone else, alright? This one is ours_.

Yuuri blinks his eyes open, to his ceiling, the corners of his eyes wet. Alone in their bed, with the ends of the dream drifting away like smoke, insubstantial.

-

Yuuri stands in Yulia's apartment, expensive and cosy, and notes Viktor's intangible presence in her house: his sweater, slung carelessly on the sofa, two pairs of his Italian-made shoes, placed in the shoe-rack neatly. The violin in its case, beside an upright grand piano. A closed door, as if to keep the loving, entwined lives out from prying eyes. Domestic bliss, transplanted, as if from Yuuri's own apartment.

"Ah, Yuuri, sorry! Viktor just went out to get us some wine, he'll be back soon." Yulia smiles at him, as she sets out the cutlery for three people, and Yuuri catalogues her: her long, straight black hair hanging to her waist, her bright blue eyes, her slightly crooked but endearing smile, her long, elegant fingers, an edge of a purple bruise peeking out from her shirt's neckline. Yuuri smiles back, one he doesn't feel, and gestures towards the piano.

"May I?"

"Of course!" She says immediately, "feel free." She disappears back into the kitchen, and Yuuri sits on the piano. Without thinking too much, he lets his fingers play. His subconscious mocks him; his fingers playing out soft notes, quietly, despairingly, hopelessly.  

He only notices Viktor and Yulia standing beside the piano when he stops, and he looks up and blushes, as Yulia claps, admiring, Viktor follows her, his eyes shrewd.

"Chopin's Prelude in E Minor. They said it was called _quelles larmes au fond du cloître humide_. Suffocation."

Yuuri makes a sound that could be interpreted as acquiescence.

"I didn't know you could play so well, Yuuri! Will you play another? After dinner, of course! Vitya, did you know Yuuri could play so well?"

"No, I didn't," Viktor drawls, and Yuuri stiffens, but he keeps his gaze averted, nervously playing with the collar of his shirt. "I didn't hear him play at all even when we were living together."

"You weren't there when I was playing," Yuuri says with a smile, and his gaze moves to Yulia, "you were busy, after all." 

_December 2014_

"Why are you jumping straight into marriage? You barely know her; it's only been a few months-"

"I had just recovered from a near fatal accident," Viktor says solemnly, even though his eyes are liquid with amusement, "carpe diem, and all that. I'm embracing a new outlook on life!" 

Yuri makes a face and throws a score at him, listlessly, and then picks at his nails, and Viktor frowns. 

"Are you not happy for me?"

"What about Yuuri?" Yuri asks, looking up at Viktor, oddly angry, a little disbelieving. 

"What about him?"

"Have you not told him?"

"I told him. He congratulated me, like a good friend would," Viktor says pointedly, and Yuri loses his temper.

"You're tactless and an idiot and I don't want to see you," Yuri says, a little snarl erupting at the end of the statement, even though the most of it is restrained calm. "Get out."

Viktor's face tightens. "I thought you'd be happy for me."

Yuri rakes his hand through his hair, frustrated. "It's not that I'm not, it's just that-"

"What? What is it?" Viktor says, then lets out a short laugh, "you're making it sound like I have an obligation to Yuuri. Whoever I want to marry is _my_ business, even if Yuuri and I were close."  

"Because he's an idiot," Yuri snarls, and he scowls hard at Viktor. "He's too kind, and you're a bastard, Viktor."

Viktor bites back his retort and storms out.

- 

"You gave up," Yuri snarls at Yuuri, pulling his collar and narrowing his green eyes at him. Yuuri simply ducks his head, and his eyes are hidden behind his hair. He stares at a little spot on the floor.

"I didn't," he lies.

"Then go and stop him! He's rushing into this, you know that, and you haven't even told him-" 

"I can't," Yuuri says, his voice breaking at the last note, slightly hysterical and grief-stricken, "I can't take his happiness away from him."

"What about you?" Yuri yells, "I'm sick of your stupid self-sacrificial shit, when you look like - like - that! Didn't you want to marry him? Huh?!"

Yuuri doesn't look at him, and he sits down on his bed, pulling his knees to his chest. For long moments, there is only his breathing and Yuri shifting impatiently. 

"If you're not going to tell him, I will," Yuri threatens. Yuuri doesn't say anything. Yuri huffs, and turns away. Yuuri's voice stops him.

"That day," Yuuri says, his voice small, "that day, when he got into the accident, I dropped a teacup on the floor after I heard."

"Huh?"

"I came home after that, and the teacup was lying all over the floor."

"I don't get what you're saying, Katsudon," Yuri growls.

"It was still shattered. I forgot about it, and I was really surprised to see the cup in pieces all over the floor. I somehow thought that it'd have mysteriously put itself back together, whole and perfect again. Stupid, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's fucking stupid," Yuri says bluntly, "broken things can't put itself back together."

"Exactly. Time can't rewind. Even if you fixed the cup again, it'll still be different. Probably missing pieces. What can I do with the pieces, other than throw them away? Do you understand, Yurio?" 

_January 2015_

"It would make me happy if you could use these," Yuuri says, quiet, strangely devastated. Viktor watches him slide his hands under the table. "They're...they - I bought them for a person I love." Yuuri soldiers on, but his eyes are faraway, fixed at a point over Viktor's shoulders. "It didn't work out, but he made me very happy." His eyes alighted on Viktor, and there's something like regret and grief tugging at the curve of his smile. "You're my-" He seems to hesitate here, and then continues with another smile, "friend, and I hope she makes you happy like he made me. It might be a little...too much, but please." 

The afternoon sunlight cuts Yuuri geometrically, illuminating half his face, leaving one eye bright gold, the tips of his hair and jawline blurred by the sun. He is almost too bright to look at, but he simply blinks and turns his chair away from the path of the sun. Yuuri looks back down at the table, and takes his cup, raising it to his lips. Something compels Viktor to take the boxes and stare at the simple gold bands, and he delicately takes one out and holds it between his fingers, watching it glint in the bright sun.

"You didn't mention a boyfriend before," Viktor says, curious, cocking his head at Yuuri. "What happened to him?"

Yuuri purses his lip, and Viktor backtracks. "Ah, sorry, you don't have to -" 

"He left," Yuuri says, short and taciturn, and Viktor prods a little more. 

"Left?"

"Yes."

"What if he comes back to you?"

Yuuri laughs, but it sits uncomfortably on Viktor's chest. It doesn't touch his eyes, and the sunlight almost seems cold. "He won't," Yuuri tells him, smiling a horrible, painful smile at him. 

"...I'm sorry."

He waves him off. Sets his tea cup deliberately into the saucer and looks directly at Viktor. "Will you accept this?"

Viktor opens his mouth, thinking of ways to reject, but something about Yuuri's eyes, which seem older than the rest of his boyish charm, the way his mouth is pursed as if his smile could hide the wrinkle of anguish stall him. He realises, suddenly, that he has been something very precious, very sacred; not something he can reject. He runs his fingers over the thin gold bands, and nods.

One ring fits his finger perfectly. 

_March 2015_

"Yuuri, can you please, please play for my wedding?" 

"What, the piano?"

"Yep!" Viktor grins at him opposite his arm chair, perched on the sofa with magazines and magazines of weddings spread all over the table, glossy pages filled with marital bliss of couples, and all Yuuri wants to sweep them all off the table. "Please?"

Yuuri looks up at him, thinks _how cruel_ , and smiles.

"Of course." 

_May 2015_

"I really can't make speeches," Yuuri says with his head ducked down, endearingly bashful, and earns himself a few laughs, "and I will spare you my terrible stutter. Instead, I've decided to play Viktor and Yulia a piece as my blessings for their marriage. I hope you will like it." While drifting his eyes over Viktor and Yulia in the crowd, Yuuri forces himself to keep his voice light and his smile smooth. "It might be weird to choose this song," Yuuri admits, sheepishly, "but I hope that despite all the trials and tribulations that come with love, both of you can triumph over them together, as a whole." _And for my heart_ , he thinks, _my poor, treacherous heart_. "This is _Liebesleid,_ Love's Sorrow."

There is a loud cheer that goes through the room, and Yuuri smiles through the bitter taste lingering in his mouth and sits himself at the chair, closing his eyes and listening to the silence that falls, positions his fingers, and lets himself play.

(Viktor feels something in him snap and shatter, his breath tangling in his chest, his heart drumming hollowly, with the strangest impulse to cry. He has the strangest sensation that he has forgotten something, something important, something big, and he wants to stand, wants to ask _what is it_ , wants to stop Yuuri- His wife lays a hand over his own hand and smiles at him, eyes wet with tears, and all Viktor can think is _I'm the one who lost something important, so why are you the one crying?_ ) 

The last chords fade away, and there is a long beat of silence, where Viktor can't see Yuuri's face, bent over the piano, his hands still on the last chords, and the crowd stands and claps. Yuuri seems to steel himself, and when he faces the crowd, his eyes are crinkled shut, his mouth stretched into a smile, as if that would disguise the tears lingering on his eyelashes.

-

Yuuri plays the music for the first dance of the couple, resolutely keeping his eyes on his fingers so he doesn't have to see what is making the crowd cheer and wolf-whistle. (He can see it clearly enough; his mind enjoys tormenting him. Viktor's hand in hers, his other hand on her back. Their faces, close enough to whisper sweet nothings, a world where outsiders can only peer in enviously. He doesn't see Viktor staring at him from beyond Yulia's shoulder, distractedly smiling at his new bride.) He escapes after the first dance.

Phichit finds Yuuri sitting on the floor, a little away from the banquet hall, his legs to his chest, head between his knees, his blue suit crumpled from his position. He simply sits down beside him, not saying a word, and it takes a while before Yuuri lifts his head and rests it against the wall behind him, his eyes pressed shut, his mouth a grimace. 

"It hurts," he whispers finally, and he thumps his head against the wall, eyes still squeezed shut, as if he could stop the hurt by thumping it out of him.

"I know," Phichit says quietly, and he puts his arm around Yuuri, who presses his head against his best friend's arm and exhales, long, loud, and much too old. "You are so brave, Yuuri. You were unbelievable." He starts shaking, but his eyes are dry and his throat is tight with unspilled tears. A little away, there is revelry and kissing and Viktor dancing with his new partner, kissing her goodnight and laughing with her. Will play Tchaikovsky and Beethoven and Mozart for her. (With her. Say it as it is. Look it in the face and call this love. Wind it up and watch it go.) There is no more Yuuri and Viktor; Yuuri is ripped from his moorings, has lost somewhere he called home.

He doesn't realise that he'd wet Phichit's shoulder with silent tears, he is so, so tired. Yuri comes to join them, sitting on Yuuri's other side. The three of them are quiet, with rumpled suits and mournful hearts. 

_August 2015_

"You're fucking running away?" Yuri demands, as he stands in the middle of Yuuri's apartment, where things have been tidied and a large suitcase is sitting at the door. The apartment is sterile, so different from the one Yuri is used to seeing. He looks furious, and Yuuri sends him a smile, fussing with the fridge.

"Want a drink?" 

"You're a coward," he snarls, stomping over to him, as if he would grab Yuuri's shirt collar, but he just stands there, arms across his chest, and Yuuri lets the fridge door shut.

"I should go back," Yuuri tells the fridge, the little magnets stuck on them haphazardly. "I haven't seen my family in 2 years."

"But you're packing like you're not coming back-" 

Yuuri doesn't say anything, and he waves a can of juice at Yuri.

"Are you not?" Yuri snarls.

"I'm not." 

"Why?" Yuri demands, "is it because of Viktor-"

"Part of it," Yuuri allows, and he ambles to the couch and sits there, "also there isn't anything for me here. I have to find a new coach too, probably in Japan-"

"What about me?" Yuri says harshly, blurted out. "You said you were going to play with me-"

"Yurio- I'm sorry-"  

"Don't be sorry when you're not, you bastard," Yuri yells at him, and Yuuri's face crumbles, and Yuri looks away, feeling the annoying guilt bite him.

"I have to leave," Yuuri repeats, like a mantra, like he's told himself also many times he's forced himself to believe it. "At least, for a while. I'm sorry, Yurio."

"Have you told Viktor?"

Yuuri shrugs. "I'll text him later.

"I'm not supposed to be telling you this," Yuri says, his mouth twisted into an uncertain shape, and he hesitates before saying, "but he asked me to give him recordings of your performances." As if to give Yuuri hope, as if to keep him from leaving. Yuuri's eyes widen, chewing on his lip. 

"Did you?"

"I had to."

"Yuri, I said -"

"You know Viktor likes getting his way," Yuri seethes, "I can't stop him!"

"What did you give him?"

Yuri shoots him a flat look. "You literally only have one recording. Beethoven's _Pathetique_. 2nd Movement."

Yuuri sighs heavily and tugs his hand through his hair. "Nothing I can do about that," he murmurs, resolutely shutting down any sense of foolish hope that seemed to be rising in him. "Dinner, Yurio?"

-

"You really didn't have to come."

"Nonsense! It's the least I can do for my pianist," Viktor says, winking a little, and Yuuri gives him a wan smile, his eyes dropping to where Viktor's hand is entwined with Yulia's own, laced tightly together. He swallows around the lump in his throat and looks away. "Say, Yuuri, when you come back, shall we have a concert together? Oh! We can play that Saint Saëns you wanted to."

"We'll see if the time comes." Yuuri says, still smiling, and Yulia detaches herself from Viktor and throws her arms around Yuuri. She is a little taller than Yuuri, beautiful and kind, and Yuuri doesn't want to think too closely about how different she is from him. (He refuses to consider the similarities, too.)

"Stay safe, Yuuri," she tells him, "we'll miss you!" 

Yuuri nods, and turns to Yuri, who steps on his shoe irritably, shoving a bag of pirozhiki at him. "Come back soon, you pig." He huffs, and Yuuri smiles, feeling a rush of affection, and forces a hug on Yuri, who yells at him and shoves him off. Viktor and Yulia laugh, and Phichit wraps an arm around him tightly.

"Stay safe, Yuuri."

Yuuri nods and smiles at him, and he hesitates, glancing at Viktor. Phichit, sharp as ever, takes the hint and grabs Yuri and Yulia's arms, saying, "ah, I want to get some food! Come with me, both of you!" and drags them away. 

Viktor chuckles, and Yuuri looks at his watch, and murmurs, "I should really get going."

"Can I say just one thing?" Viktor asks, and Yuuri hums. "I heard your Beethoven."

"Ah."

"It was beautiful," Viktor tells him, and his blue eyes are intent and serious, and Yuuri blinks in surprise. "But remember not to lose your way in the music."

Yuuri stiffens, and he stares at Viktor, eyes wide. Then he lets out a huff of breath, a soft, resigned chuckle.

"You said the exact same thing about it before," he says, suddenly reckless, as if finally flinging the doors of his closely-guarded secrets open. Viktor opens his mouth, to ask _when,_ and Yuuri simply lifts his head up, and presses a kiss onto the corner of Viktor's mouth, chaste and final, and murmurs, "be happy, Vitya." He rocks back on his heels, and smiles a little wistfully at Viktor, before shouldering his bag and disappearing into the departure hall.

Viktor lifts his hand and presses it against the warm spot Yuuri kissed, staring at the spot where Yuuri disappeared, and feels warm all over. 

_September 2015_

Viktor is stirring milk into coffee, watching the white disintegrate into the dark, like a streak of a falling meteorite against the dark sky. The sun is weak and barely up, and he hums a little under his breath, mind miles away. Thinking about the melody that has been stuck in his head, the one that sounds like Tchaikovsky, jumping strands and the sounds of a disjointed piano, frustrating. He feels arms around his waist and warmth on his back. "Yuuri," he says distantly, "did you just wake up?"

Yulia stiffens a little, but when Viktor turns and smiles at her, confused, she smiles back, and steals his cup of coffee.

(When you drop a teacup, it shatters and doesn't put itself back. When you stir milk into tea, you can no longer unstir it, even if you move your teaspoon backwards.)

-

If you are missing pieces, be careful of what you replace them with.

Yuuri tries stuffing the blanks on love with hopeless pieces of long dead composers and yellowing scores that no one listens to. When that finally fails, and his bed becomes too cold and large for a single person, he turns to stranger mouths and warm bodies, resolutely slamming shut the intrusive memories of Viktor that infringes on these one-night stands of stale and vulgar affection, and of distant and dim dates. The Viktor-shaped piece he is missing, one that he amputated himself, refuses to be replaced by anything else; everything and everyone he uses to patch it up, with more and more desperation only crumbles away to reveal more blanks, more empty spaces: _this is not what Viktor would do, Viktor would have hated this man, Viktor would have just hugged me and said nothing-_

Some pieces can't be replaced after all.

-

Viktor wakes up from a strange dream: the strains of a song he cannot grasp upon waking, _this one is ours_ , a soft, fleeting kiss, and a soft, fleeting laugh.

He only realises he's dialing a number when a person picks up, and he tries to regulate his breathing, and he can pick up the concern bleeding into Yuuri's voice.

"Viktor?" (A month later and he's forgotten how Yuuri's voice wraps around his name, just a quiet sigh and the little rolled r at the back, soft and tender, like it is something precious.)

"Yuuri," Viktor gasps, and he fights to breathe normally. He says his name again, like an anchor. "Yuuri."

"What's wrong?"

"Did I forget something?" Viktor asks, his voice breaking at the end of the question, and he squeezes his eyes shut as he waits for Yuuri's answer. "Something about us?" For a moment, all Viktor can hear is static, until Yuuri speaks again.

"No, of course not." Yuuri's voice is perfectly even, and Viktor knows immediately that he is lying. "I'm sorry, Viktor, but I have to go now. Please have a good rest."

"Wait-" 

There is only the dial tone, and Viktor brings his phone down to stare at it, confused and upset.

(He doesn't know that thousands of miles away, Yuuri let the phone slip onto his bed and pulls his knees to his chest and tries not to fall apart all over again.)

_October 2015_

Yuuri's eyes are wide behind his glasses as Viktor greets him nonchalantly at their family inn, and he blinks rapidly before he turns and walks out of the inn without another word.

Viktor pouts, and Hiroko just sighs and gives him his food, a steaming bowl of katsudon.

"Come on, eat up, Vicchan."

_Vicchan?_

"Where did he go?"

Hiroko gives him a strange look. "Minako's studio, of course. Did you forget, Vicchan?"

Viktor cocks his head at her. "You mean...I've been here before?"

"Goodness!" She says, laughing a little and patting his arm, even though there is worry lingering behind her eyes, so like her son's, "it's only been two years since you last came, Vicchan, you can't be so forgetful! Go on, the food will be cold." 

"I lost 2 years of my memories when I got into an accident," Viktor tells her, his eyebrows wrinkling together. "Ah-" Here, Hiroko's eyes widen, and she casts a glance to the door and fusses with her tray. Viktor ventures carefully. "Yuuri didn't tell you?"

Hiroko pats his arm and gives him a wan smile. "Eat up, Vicchan."

-

"Yuuri, let's talk."

"Hmm? What about?"

"About Vicchan. Why didn't you tell us?"  

"Okaa-san..." 

Yuuri's face crumples, and he lets his mother hug him, small and warm and tender, and he breathes the words into her shoulder. "He can't remember who I am."

-

The next morning, Yuuri is already gone when Viktor is properly awake, and Hiroko directs him to the class where Yuuri was teaching little children. Viktor peers into the little window, watching the tiny human beings crowd around Yuuri, who has his back to the door. There are parents milling around, who catch sight of him and elbow each other, murmuring agitatedly behind their hands, but Viktor ignores them in favour of looking at Yuuri and straining to hear his quiet voice above the chatter.

"Yuuri-sensei!" One girl yells, as she tries to climb the seat after elbowing her way up to the piano chair. "Can you play us something, please?"

"Just one piece, alright? What do you want to hear, Kiyoko-chan?"

"Turkish March!"

Yuuri laughs and obliges. The students watch, entranced. When he played the last chord, they cry and clamour for more. Yuuri chuckles but rises from his chair, gently setting Kiyoko on the floor, and says "your parents are here to fetch you, so we'll continue another time, alright?"

They whine, but Yuuri ushers them out, calling his goodbyes, a small smile playing on his lips. Viktor hasn't seen him so relaxed, not around him. He stares at Yuuri, who finally looks up and sees him, his smile sliding off his face. (It bothers Viktor more than he should, but he just brushes the feeling aside.)

"Hello, Viktor," Yuuri murmurs quietly, and he turns back into the room, straightening chairs and picking up stray things left behind.

"Good morning," Viktor replies, strangely nervous, bouncing on his feet. "I didn't know you taught."

"I just take a few classes." 

"Ah, I see."

"Why are you here?" Yuuri says, his eyes are faraway, "isn't Yulia back in Russia?" 

"I missed my friend," Viktor replies, trying to be playful, but Yuuri doesn't smile. He stands, grabbing his phone, and turns his back onto Viktor.

"I'm heading back first."

"Let's have breakfast together."

"I don't feel like eating."

"Then you can come watch me eat," Viktor declares and forcibly tugs Yuuri out.

-

Yuuri refuses to look at him, preferring to look out of the window and sipping his cup of tea as Viktor waits for his meal.

"How are you?" 

"Fine."

"You look thinner."

"Do I?"

Viktor puts his fork down. Yuuri is still looking out of the window, mouth pressed into an unhappy line, and Viktor feels his heart twist a little in his chest. "Why did you not call or text?"

"I was busy," Yuuri murmurs evasively.

"I know you call Yurio."

Yuuri just shrugs. "I thought he'd update you. Anyway, I'm fine." He half-heartedly sends a bland smile at Viktor, and Viktor's mouth thins.

"You're avoiding me. That's why you left Russia. What is it? Why don't you tell me?" 

"I'm not avoiding you," Yuuri lies. 

"Yuuri," Viktor hisses between his teeth, frustrated. He takes a deep breath, and tries to regain his composure. The next words are difficult, confusing. Tumbling out of his mouth like careless riddles. "You called me Vitya, before you left." 

Yuuri looks away. He can't find it in himself to be sorry for that act, even if it makes his heart jump. He doesn't say anything. 

"That's the only time you've called me that. Why?" 

"That wasn't the only time I called you that," Yuuri says finally. He closes his eyes and exhales, before smiling at Viktor, a sad tilt of his mouth, looking uncomfortably familiar with the curl of Yuuri's lips, as if that is the only way he knows how to smile anymore. "But you can't remember, can you?"

(Love is just on the outside, waiting to break in.) 

-

"Tell me." 

"Oi! I'm practicing!"

"Tell me," Viktor insists, ignoring Yuri's angry yell. Yuri narrows his eyes at him.

"Tell you what?"

"Yuuri and I. We met 2 years ago. Yes?"

Yuri frowns at him. "Yes," he replies, reluctantly. "What's up with you? Wasn't your flight back today - you came straight from the airport?"

"We were - friends? We were close. We played together: him; piano, me; violin, or the piano too? Or conducting?"

"What's up with you?" Yuri snaps, "why are you asking me this, go and ask that-"

"He won't tell me. He said it doesn't matter, because it's in the past and I can't remember it anyway - but he kissed me - that time - and called my name and looked so sad."

"You're married," Yuri says, quietly. "Why do you care so much about Yuuri only now, when it's too late?" 

"I didn't- I didn't know-"

"You just didn't think he was interesting enough," Yuri hisses at him harshly, "so _why now_?"

"Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto No. 1 was ours," Viktor replies, uttering words that bring the strangest sense of _deja vu_ , eyes wide with desperation, "and I can only remember so little." 

_December 2015_

"Look," Phichit hums, handing a brochure at Viktor almost brusquely.

"What is this?" Viktor flips the pages, blinking at the words.

"Yuuri is coming to Russia for a few days to play with an orchestra."

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh_. Do you want to go?"

-

"They're playing Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No. 2," Phichit grins, and then bounces on his heels. "I wonder how Yuuri will do!" 

"Rachmaninoff?" Yuri asks, "not the Tchaikovsky?"

Phichit's eyes shift to Viktor's, then slides away, and he shrugs. "They went with Rachmaninoff this time."

"Tough," Yuri hums, and then fidgets in his seat.

"Hmm," Viktor says, distracted, and then looks down at Yulia's entwined hand with his own, when she gives him a little squeeze.

"It'll start soon," she says gently, knowing, and Viktor smiles at her and drops a kiss on her temple.

"Right."

They watch as the lights dim and the hall fall into a hush, a secret spell, a held breath of absolute anticipation. Yuuri walks out, solemn and unsmiling, shakes hands with the conductor and the concert master, and adjusts the seat.

The light falls almost blindingly on Yuuri, in his dark suit. Yuuri seems to take a deep breath, before he plays the first few notes on the piano, notes that are subtle and present, that slowly grow and fill the room with beautifully-formed rings of sound. Viktor is entranced, his back sitting up straighter, the sound pulling him closer, marvelous and mesmerizing, feels his arms raising in gooseflesh, a shiver running through his spine. Yuuri plays an ocean of sentimentality, of memories, of desperate yearning, a swell of resonance and sound that crashes around Viktor's ears sweetly and almost painfully. He loses his breath; he barely registers his fingers digging into his palm; the sound grows, unyielding, no less lovely.

When the orchestra hurtles to the intense, final ending, and ends, there is a beat of silence, before people around Viktor are standing, applauding loudly. Yuuri stands, bowing low and sporting a half smile, and then turning and bowing to the orchestra. Viktor only realises then that he is heaving breaths, as if he didn't breathe for the last 30 minutes. Yulia gently touches his hand.

"Vitya?"

"Sorry," he whispers, then coughs. His tongue feels like lead in his mouth, and he can still hear the sound of Yuuri's piano in his head, and his fingers itch to play. "I-um-"

"We're going to go see Yuuri," Yuri says shortly, "you both can leave first, if-"

"We'll go too," Viktor says immediately, and he follows closely behind.

Yuuri is happy to see Phichit and Yuri, he can tell, but his smile turns dimmer when he spots Viktor and Yulia. His hair is messier, pieces of hair unslicked from the gel, falling into his eyes, and his glasses are back on his face. Somehow softer, more easily accessible than the bright figure on the stage, who played Rachmaninoff so profoundly.

"That was brilliant," Phichit gushes, and pushes Yuri in front of him, closer to Yuuri. "Don't you have something for Yuuri?"

Yuri scowls at Phichit, and thrusts the bouquet he's been holding behind his back at Yuuri. "Here," he murmurs, and his cheeks are tinted pink. "Only because you did well."

Yuuri's brown eyes soften as he takes it over, smiling at Yuri and moving to hug him. "Thank you, Yurio."

"That was wonderful," Yulia tells him sincerely, and Yuuri nods in thanks, smiling at her. Viktor waits for him to look at him, but when Yuuri moves away, fussing with his belongings, Viktor snaps and steps forward, tugging at his wrist.

"Are you free?" He demands, and Yuuri tugs his hand away immediately, frowning. "Right now?"

"I don't have anything, but-"

"Then come with me," Viktor declares, and Yuuri blinks at him, disbelieving. Viktor ignores the looks Phichit and Yuri and his wife give him.

"Why?"

"You have to play with me," Viktor insists, his fingers twitching. "Yuri, you have the key to the studio, right?"

"Viktor," Yulia tries, "it's late, and Yuuri is tired-"

"He's a concert pianist," Viktor retorts. "I'm sure he can do one more piece."

Yuuri seems to consider him with dark, confused eyes, before what he sees make him nod. "Fine."

-

Viktor sits at one piano, Yuuri at the other, and they play, perfectly in sync. Viktor absorbs the sound, and feels the nagging feeling dissipate in furious playing, as Yuuri matches up without issue. When they come to an end, they're left staring at each other, until Yuuri looks away and purses his lip. There was utter silence, then:

"We've played together before." After Viktor voices these words, the surer he is of them. There is no mistake, and he tries to grasp the tail-ends of the smoky memories and sweet nostalgia crawling up in his chest. "Before I-"

"It's really late," Yuuri says, cutting him off, unwilling to even entertain what Viktor is saying. "I am sure all of you are tired."

"Yes," Phichit jumps in, "let's go home."

"Sorry," Viktor says, stubborn, "but I have to talk to Yuuri privately. It won't take a long time."

"Oh, I doubt so," Yuri murmurs, and Yuuri shoots him a look. Yulia watches them, head looking back and forth before nodding, mouth pursed into a worried line.

"We'll wait outside, then," she decides, and they leave them alone.

"We did, didn't we? Play together before?"

The answer seems to be wrenched from Yuuri. "Yes," he says lowly, exhaustedly, "please, can we do this another day, I am really tired." 

"You'll just disappear and refuse to say anything."

"I told you before-"

Viktor talks over him, the words tumbling out from his mouth, trying to pull together fragments, strands of information. A broken teacup, trying to force itself together again. "I was important to you. We were living together, as roommates, but we also played together. Tchaikovsky. I told you I liked it, but you already knew. So we were close, and I knew how you played. Was interested, even."

Yuuri keeps silent, his head bent down low.

"We were - what? Best friends? No, you wouldn't have pulled away so much if we were just friends, no, you pulled away because you were scared to let me close again. And that is only possible if - if we were dating. _Friends_ are easier than lovers, no? So. We were dating. Yes?"

Yuuri closes his eyes and exhales loudly. Mute, clamping down and trying to force Viktor out.

"So I forgot about this. Us. Then why didn't you tell me?" Viktor's eyes fall to his hands, where one ring sits, gold and polished. "You had a boyfriend, before me. The one you bought rings for? You said he left you."

"He did," Yuuri whispers, tortured.

"He died?" Yuuri's arms came up to wrap around his chest, and his breathing is loud.

"The person didn't love me anymore," Yuuri murmurs, and he pulls his chair back. "Is that enough? Can I leave now?" 

"No," Viktor says, standing up and blocking Yuuri from leaving, his eyes turbulent and frustrated. "I have to know. What is this, then? You didn't tell me anything, and then you ran away to Japan to avoid me, and I'm wearing the ring you bought your ex. What is this? Explain yourself." 

"We were dating, yes. I had a boyfriend before you, yes. I bought rings for him. He left me. And I couldn't forget about him, and you were getting married, so I thought it was a good idea to just give them to you, on account of the fact that we dated. Fine? You got everything right. Can I go now?"

"You are lying," Viktor says, immediately, eyes sweeping across Yuuri's pinched face, "you're a terrible liar."

"What do you want me to _say_?" Yuuri asks, voice fractured, edging to shrill frustration. "I don't know why you have to do this, and look, Yulia is waiting for you outside. It's late-"

The next words are shocked, disbelieving, cutting through the air. It hits Viktor like a bludgeon, and before his mind could catch up, he speaks. "Oh. I see. I forgot about you and got married. You meant this when you said _the person didn't love me anymore_. The rings were for us. You were planning to propose _me_. That's why one fit me so well."

"Please," Yuuri says, his voice on the edge of hysteria, "stop."

There is a long, drawn-out silence, only the sound of Yuuri's breathing filling up the tense air.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Even when he is not looking at Viktor, Yuuri can hear the confusion and the edge of hurt.

"No," Yuuri lashes out, panic and exhaustion making him abrasive. "You have a _wife_ waiting for you outside; and I told you: it doesn't matter. Stop this now. I am leaving." He pushes past Viktor, determinedly, stopping when Viktor grabs his elbow.

"If it doesn't matter, why did you buy rings?" He doesn't ask  _why do you look so sad all the time?_

Yuuri pauses, his shoulders drawn tightly around his ears, as if he was shouldering a heavy burden. "I was foolish," Yuuri says finally, "for wanting to keep you with me. But now, everything is right again, isn't it?" Then he lets himself out, footsteps fading despite Phichit and Yuri calling after him. 

Right? Everything is _wrong_.

- 

Viktor reclines in bed, thinking, searching for the traces of Yuuri in his head, and he tries and tries, only to come up with a bitter taste in his mouth and frustrating inconsequential memories. Only words that evaporate like morning mist, music that fades into nothingness. He comes out with more headaches than ever, his wrists aching from the long hours playing piece after piece after piece of classical music, with only wisps of memories, only smoke and little success. But he remains determined to find out, unanswered text messages and calls to Yuuri be damned.

Viktor has never been more bothered by the absence of memories before this; where Yuuri had occupied in his mind utterly blank, only hints, echoes, shocking him with the vast section of memories that seemed to have disappeared into nothingness. All he knows is that Yuuri was more important, more crucial to his life than he realised. 

_January 2016_

"Yuuri."

"Hello, Yulia," Yuuri murmurs, ducking his head down and flipping through the menu. "Have you ordered?" 

"Ah, no. What would you like?" 

"Green tea, please." 

She waved a waiter down and ordered, and they sat in relatively awkward silence until Yulia spoke.

"Yuuri," she starts, hesitatingly, and Yuuri clenches his hands under his table. "I know."

Yuuri stares, and stares at her, and then gives a short laugh. "What are you saying?" He replies, trying to keep his tone light. 

"I know," she says, very quietly, and Yuuri drops his eyes to stare at their cups. "About Viktor and you."

Yuuri exhales heavily, and shakes his head, then picks up his cup, and puts it back down again. "How?"

She ignores the question, and raises a familiar ring between her thumb and forefinger. It glints in the light, bright and polished, mocking. "You bought it for Viktor and yourself, didn't you?" 

"Yulia," Yuuri says, mouth a thin line. "Please don't do this. You're married to Viktor-"

"I know he will leave me," Yulia cuts him off, and Yuuri shakes his head vehemently. 

"He won't, he can't-"

"Call it sixth sense." 

"I'm - sorry," Yuuri whispers, helplessly, and he tries to keep his hands from shaking. "I didn't know-" 

"I am not blaming you, Yuuri, I just want to know why. Why didn't you tell him, when you had the chance?"

Yuuri keeps his silence, helpless in finding words that refuse to materialise, and then he finally opens his mouth. 

"When Viktor and I - were together -" Yuuri says, the words difficult, "I was always surprised, you know. What about me could Viktor find to be in love with?" His smile is wry on his face. "I thought: this must be a miracle, and even if it is short, I wanted to have his time and his affection. Him forgetting - that is simply the world righting itself." 

Yuuri blinks at the hands that suddenly cover his, and he looks up, into Yulia's pale eyes, and she gives him a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Then why do you look so sad when you say that?"

Yuuri shakes his head, denying, but he doesn't move away from her. "Do you really believe that, Yuuri? That love is only up to fate? I don't think so. Viktor wants to remember you. He's been trying so hard, the neighbours are staring to complaining about the piano or the violin that goes so late into the night."

"Oh."

Silence falls on the both of them. 

"I have divorce papers ready," Yulia says, with a twist of her lips. "I wanted to speak with you, before I gave them to Viktor." 

"Please don't - please don't do that. I'll leave - and - and not see Viktor again-"

"Yuuri," she cuts him off, and takes his hands between her own. "It is not your fault, or anybody's. I just chose to make a wise exit, for my best interests. Do not take it upon yourself."

"But why?" Yuuri asks, his voice cracking, "you're both happy together, I know-" 

Yulia gives him a flat look, chastising, and Yuuri worries his lip. "I do not want that happiness at the expense of yours."

"I am not sad," Yuuri denies.

"And to be honest, I feel like I stole Viktor from you and you just let me."

"No, you didn't-"

"You love him very much, don't you, Yuuri?" 

Yuuri presses his lips into a thin line, his heart jolting in a hard throb inside his chest. "I-"

"Then don't let him go again."

"Yulia...I...I don't-"

"You have really pretty hands," she murmurs, smiling faintly and she slides the ring onto his fourth finger. "I think this ring fits better here, don't you?"

-

Yuuri stands outside the studio, and then inhales a deep breath, and another. He cracks open the door, and lets himself in, insecure and nervous.

The sounds of Mozart stop, abruptly, and Viktor looks at him with wide eyes.

"You're - here." 

"Yes."

"I still can't remember," Viktor tells him, frustrated, as he bangs the piano keys, a loud, jarring sound, and he turns his stormy eyes onto Yuuri. "Tell me," he demands, and then shakes his head. "Don't, that's cheating." Then he starts the song again, and Yuuri nudges at him, sitting beside him on the piano chair. 

"Why are you playing this Mozart Sonata?"

"It felt right," Viktor tells him, vaguely.

"I used to play it," Yuuri says, when Viktor plays the last chord, "when you were upset and didn't want to talk to me."

"What about Chopin?" Viktor demands, "Elgar? Tchaikovsky? We played them together, yes?"

Yuuri nods. "Tchaikovsky Piano Concerto No. 1...was ours."

Viktor turns to him. A storm. Looking for a shore to stop, to anchor, to cease. "I know. I remember that."

"I am sorry," Yuuri says, biting on his lip nervously. "About - Yulia."

"I am sorry, too," Viktor murmurs. 

They sit in silence, as Yuuri plays with his sleeves, awkward and uncertain, and Viktor reaches over to grasp one fidgety hand. Yuuri looks up, into familiar eyes that still don't know him.

"I can't remember you," Viktor tells him, hand warm over Yuuri's, "but I want to."

Yuuri gives him a smile, eyes wet, and nods. "That's enough." 

_January 2017_

"Are you nervous?"

"It'll be weird _not_ to be nervous," Yuuri grumbles, and Viktor steps into his space, crowding him against the wall.

"We've practised so much," Viktor says sweetly, injecting calm into his voice, "and I am here with you. Just listen to me."

"I know," Yuuri breathes, and Viktor takes his hand and kisses his knuckles.

"'My love'," he murmurs, "'I fear the silence of your hands'." 

Yuuri opens his mouth, to say something, and Yuri's voice cuts through their moment. 

"Hey you two, stop flirting, it's time." He is standing at the door that leads to the stage, and Yuuri swallows hard, and then looks into Viktor's reassuring eyes and brilliant smile.

"Let's go."

There were bright lights, one piano, one violin, two beautifully dressed men, smiling contentedly at one another, and Saint Saëns' _Introduction and Rondo Capriccioso_ rings like new beginnings in the expansive hall.

**Author's Note:**

> WHO ALSO WATCHED NODAME CANTABILE AND YOUR LIE IN APRIL AND CRIED 
> 
> hehe some of these pieces are from those two shows, so i’ve linked the pieces mentioned in this here: 
> 
> saint saëns introduction and rondo capriccioso (one of my favourite pieces of all time!!!!)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8QFHrPSYTA
> 
> schubert's sonata in a minor  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bvta3QA5A7c
> 
> chopin's prelude no. 4 in e minor  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ef-4Bv5Ng0w
> 
> kriesler's love's sorrow (piano solo, rachmaninoff's arrangement)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sbAtt4w6ZU
> 
> rachmaninoff's piano concerto no. 2  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNyQz7SiPQY&t=778s
> 
> tchaikovsky's piano concerto no. 1  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItSJ_woWnmk&t=214s
> 
> i also imagine yuuri would play this (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bZZqSZqJz4Y) when viktor is sulking, just because. 
> 
> (p.s. i’m learning schubert’s sonata in a minor……… help)
> 
> other references: 
> 
> teacup metaphor and title from the tv show hannibal (though in a radically different context, no cannibalistic serial-killer psychiatrists here, unfortunately): “occasionally i drop a teacup to shatter on the floor. on purpose. i’m not satisfied when it doesn’t gather itself up again. someday, perhaps a cup will come together.”
> 
> and also tom stoppard’s arcadia (one of my favourite plays!)  
> here’s a quote:  
> "When you stir your rice pudding, Septimus, the spoonful of jam spreads itself round making red trails like the picture of a meteor in my astronomical atlas. But if you stir backwards, the jam will not come together again. Indeed, the pudding does not notice and continues to turn pink just as before. Do you think this is odd?”
> 
> jeanette winterson’s lighthousekeeping  
> "this is not a love story, but love is in it. that is, love is just outside it, looking for a way to break in.” 
> 
> mahmoud darwish's "the pigeons fly"  
> "my love, i fear the silence of your hands./ scratch my blood so the horse can sleep."
> 
> i wrote this with a writer's block so it's a bit sloppy.....might delete this later LOL
> 
> EDIT: HI GUYS (not very sure how this works IM NEW HERE) thank you for your lovely comments! i will reply all of you individually after im done with my essay (40% of my grade, kill me), but as for now, i just wanna say thanks for reading and commenting ‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ ) i won't delete it (since you guys seem to like it!) after all, but i might edit it, when inspiration strikes.  
> p.s. also edited the spacings in the main text wew


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